


The Incident With the Bicycle

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kidlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident with a bicycle when John and Sherlock were kids. A different one when they were adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Incident With the Bicycle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jack63kids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack63kids/gifts).



> This is for my dear friend jack63kids for her birthday! She gave me some interesting words and I had no idea where they would lead me:P. They were pastry, pushbike, pedant. She also gave me shopping in Lidl, which, I hadn’t noticed during my visits to England and is a grocery chain and according to their handy-dandy location site there is one not terribly far from Baker Street. That is about as much research I was capable of:D. I do apologize for the swearing – one shouldn’t swear for a friend’s birthday:) But not for the small amounts of kissing – that is harder for me to break than the swearing;)  
> This is totally AU & not S3 compliant, (probably not any season compliant okay rambling) but I did because I can:)  
> Thanks to johnsarmylady and mattsloved1 for all around Britpickiness and spell-checkery:D
> 
> Don’t own – but if I did…

John stood over the sprawled small form on the pavement; his thin body all there was between the kid on the ground and the two arseholes who had been beating on him before John had come along. His fist was clenched, ready to throw a second punch at the taller of the two boys, both older than John and certainly older than the little boy who was lying on the ground.

 

“Christ, Watson, that fucking hurt! My nose is bleeding!” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. The taller of the two, blond and ugly, clutched at his face, red running like thick paint down the front and over his white t-shirt. A few crimson splatters were scattered on the ground. “Shit, I think you broke it!” His voice came out muffled and slurred, probably from the pain and swelling.

 

The other boy, dark haired and slick, who was unhurt at the moment, spoke up, “Ah come on, Watson, be smart. You’ve already hurt Sebby. You don’t want to mess with me. Let us take the bike. He’s a spoiled rich kid. He aint’ gonna miss it! If we sell it we’ll split it with you.” He shrugged and a shark grin smile lit his face. “If you don’t, well I can’t be held responsible for Seb’s actions, now can I?”

 

With a mental shrug, John wondered who the hell talked like that. It was almost like Jim had watched too many movies involving the mob or something.

 

A sort of calm descended on John. It was the way he sometimes got when he dealt with his father when he was in a rage and threatening Harry or their mum. Everything became still and clear. He smiled, but it wasn’t cold and calculated. It appeared warm and friendly. That was what most people would have assumed, rather mistakenly. “I am not going to let you. You’ve always been a fucking bully, Jim. It’s not your bike. I don’t care how rich he is; he’s just a kid. Get the fuck out of here or I’ll hit Seb again and then when I am finished with him, I swear to god I’ll come after you.”

 

Everyone had always thought John was easy going and a peacemaker, but there was a core of steel running through him and when push came to shove he’d get this look in his eye, not so much murderous but righteous and wrathful, sort of like an avenging angel coming to smite a few unbelievers. This was the look he was giving Jim at the moment. No one, he didn’t give a flying fuck who the hell they were, beat up on a six year old kid, just because they could.

 

Jim stared at Watson. John could almost feel the cold wrap around him, oozing off of Jim, thick and oily. He was certainly not someone to mess with, but John was not going to walk away and he wasn’t going to let Jim and Seb beat either of them up. He got enough of that shit from his dad.

 

“Go Jim. Go now and I might not hit you.”

 

Jim stared some more. He broke eye contact first and then he shrugged. “Better watch your back, Watson. I can’t be held responsible if you happen to fall down some stairs or tripped and landed in front of a car. Would be a bit not good to get run over by a car, now wouldn’t it? Come Sebastian. Let’s get you cleaned up before someone sees you and starts asking inconvenient questions.”

 

As he waited for them to leave, John wondered if he had seriously been threatened with death over a pushbike. He sighed. He always watched his back so nothing new there.

 

He bent over the little boy on the ground. “Hey kid, you can get up now. Those two idiots have left.” He gently touched the shoulder of the child, trying not to startle him. A solemn, tear streaked face lifted and two enormous eyes blinked at him. Tears were hovering in the corners, there was a nasty bruise forming along the left cheek where Seb had struck him and his lower lip was bleeding. John felt that simmering rage he tried so hard to clamp down on boil to the surface. If this kid hadn’t obviously needed his help he would have gone after Jim and Seb and vented some of his anger in a more physical way. Instead he smiled at the wary child.

 

“What’s your name, kid?”

 

The other boy hesitated and then scowled at the ground. “William Holmes.” A soft lisp caressed the pronunciation of his name.

 

“Well William, I’m John. Let’s get you up, brush you off and get you home. Shall we check out your bike first? See if it’s okay?”

 

William nodded earnestly. Serious seeming kid, thought John, but he guessed after the fright he’d had he’d be serious too. John bent down and looked the bike over. It was a new, rather expensive model and John could see why it had been a target of Jim and Seb.

 

John glanced at William, whose face was scrunched up in thought. “Nice bike,” John said.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why what?” John was honestly confused.

 

“Why did you help me? You might be in danger now because of me. That boy threatened you.”

 

John looked at the boy with amusement. “In danger? Nah, I live for danger. Danger is my middle name. John ‘Danger’ Watson.”

 

A shy grin broke out on William’s face and changed the look of the boy from serious undertaker to mischievous sprite. His eyes fairly glowed at John. A giggle broke through and John grinned back, the child’s laugh highly contagious. John helped William to his feet and carefully looked at the scraped and scratched knees. He informed William he would be as right as rain in a few days.

 

“So William, were do you live?”

 

Before William could answer, a long black car, cleaner than any vehicle had a right to be, pulled up alongside. A tall man in a driver’s uniform got out of the car and hurried over to the two boys.

 

“Master William! Where have you been? Your mother is worried sick. Are you hurt?” Before William could answer, the driver turned on John, furious and frightening. “What have you done? How dare you pick on a small child! What’s your name? I have every reason to call the police.”

 

John scowled at the man and was about to turn and walk away, but before he could William spoke up.

 

“It wasn’t him! It was two other boys. John was helping me!” And he shyly stuck his hand into John’s. John, startled, looked down at William. A feeling of protection and something else he couldn’t name swelled up in his chest. He reached over and fondly ruffled the hair on top of William’s head.

 

“Thanks Will! Looks like you’re in good hands. I’ll be going.” A look of sadness and distress passed over the little boy’s face.

 

“Can’t you stay? You could come home with me and we could play pirates or soldiers or something.”

 

“Aw, thanks kid, maybe some other time. I really need to get home now that you’re okay.” He turned and glared at the driver. “Next time, don’t jump to conclusions. You really should ask questions and look at all the evidence before you decide some one’s guilt.”

 

He turned to go, but he hadn’t gone far before a small body wrapped itself around John, pinning him in place. The brief hug squeezed the air out of John. “Thanks John!” The boy scampered into the waiting vehicle. The driver placed the bicycle into the boot, climbed in and drove away.

 

Typical, no apology, nothing, John shrugged and headed for home, hoping his dad didn’t find out he’d been fighting or there would be hell to pay.

 

oOo

 

“Simple really.”

 

“Not to be a pedant but ‘simple’ is not the word I would use.”

 

“John, really! It was childishly easy to see that a competitor had stolen the bike. The racer leaves her bike chained outside the hotel where she is staying, removes the front tyre to discourage bike theft. It is a £6000 bike after all and the hotel she is in is in a dodgy neighbourhood. But here’s where the thief is both clever and stupid. Clever because she makes it appear to be simple theft, she removes the wheel from second competitor’s bike, also at the hotel. It incapacitates both riders; she can eliminate two bikes, two competitors and then can sell the bike. Stupid, because she obviously forgot about the CCTV cameras and although she disguised herself, she has a distinctive way of walking that anyone should be able to recognize but apparently I am the only person capable of even that simple knack.”

 

“Still,” John said, frowning down at the pre-packaged pastry he had picked up. It was half-off as the sell-by-date was close at hand. He shrugged and put it in the shopping basket. Sherlock would eat it and it didn’t look too dubious. “Still,” he continued, “not many would think to check her for that particular type of residue on her shoes. That was clever and put her at the scene of the crime, solidifying the evidence. Well done you.”

 

Sherlock beamed under the praise from John even if he’d heard it all before. He grabbed John’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. He wasn’t one for overt displays of affection but now and then he found he had to ground himself by touching John’s hand or shoulder. He would show him later what exactly his praise did to him.

 

Basket full, they queued at the checkout. They left Lidl’s and made their way back to Baker Street. Too far to walk with a load of shopping and even though there was a tube station not far, it was still not Sherlock’s preferred mode of transportation. They had been well paid for their services for solving the bike theft case, so John didn’t grumble too much about grabbing a taxi. He grumbled a bit, but mostly for show. He didn’t want Sherlock to think he was getting to be a soft touch. During the ride home, he mulled over various titles to label this particular episode in the blog. Being exhausted from the all night chasing, ‘Wheel Tyred’ was stuck in a loop in his head, but that was a stretch, even for him. Perhaps ‘A Degree of Cycology’? Hmm, yes that had a certain ring.

 

The taxi pulled up to the familiar door of 221 and Sherlock was out and through it before John could even gather the bags. “Git,” was thrown toward the retreating figure but it bounced off and slid to the ground. John shuffled the heavy bags into one hand and pulled out his wallet to pay the driver with the other. He grumbled some more up the stairs and into the flat.

 

“Thanks for that.”

 

“You’re welcome,” came absent-mindedly from the direction of the bedroom, the sarcasm either ignored or not heard.

 

Later, after food was put away, tea made and close at hand, a sandwich consumed, John worked on a rough draft of the case. As he was finishing up, a yawn coated voice behind him said, “A Degree of Cycology”? John could hear the eye roll. But a soft sweet kiss was placed on top of John’s head, a fond acceptance for John’s sense of humour.

 

“You know that was a stupid thing you did?” Sherlock said, his voice coming from the kitchen as he rummaged for something to eat. He’d slept for a while and now he’d consume enough calories for a small army.

 

“Hmm? What’s that?” John glanced up. Sherlock had come back out of the kitchen and stood there biting his lip. “That thing you did. That thing you always do.”

 

John continued to look puzzled. Sherlock’s hand waved around. “You and your jumping on people and tackling them to the ground. It’s a bit not good. You could get hurt.”

 

“Not good? How can it be not good when it prevents _you_ from getting hurt, you daft bugger? Perhaps if you didn’t go around making yourself into a big, juicy target I wouldn’t have to rescue you.”

 

“Yes, but it puts you in danger.”

 

With a bark of laughter, John turned back to his laptop. “Ha! Danger is my middle name! John ‘Danger’ Watson, that’s me.”

 

“No, no, no, it’s Hamish…”

 

There was a long pause. The silence was thick enough that John stopped typing and turned to look at Sherlock. He was about to say something smart, but then got a closer look at his face. “Hey now, what’s wrong?” He placed the laptop on the floor and hurried over. He placed a hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock was clearly distressed, his eyes were blinking rapidly and he was rather pale.

 

“What is it?”

 

“It was you!”

 

“Of course it was me. Who else would it be?”

 

“No, not now! Then!”

 

“Sherlock did you get hit on the head, cause now it’s getting kind of scary.”

 

“No, no no, when I was six.”

 

“Okay, you’ve lost me”

 

Sherlock sighed the sigh of someone who has to put up with lesser mortals. “When I was six, I received a new bicycle and I was riding it when I was accosted by two rather large, older boys and another boy came by and punched one of the boys and…”

 

“Oh! Oh my god! I had totally forgotten about that. That was you? Good grief! But that boy, his name was William. I would have remembered when we first met if he had said Sherlock. How many Sherlocks does one meet in a lifetime?”

 

Sherlock huffed. “That _is_ my name, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I changed it to Sherlock in uni because William was too plain and boring. Every other person was named William.”

 

“’Course you did. But hang on that means we actually met years ago. Huh. You know it was shortly after that I decided wanted to be a doctor.”

 

“I was always worried that those two boys had beaten you up or killed you. I first began to think about being a detective in case I had to avenge your murder.”

 

John laughed. “Nah, you should have been more worried about my father. He found out I had been in a fight and beat the crap out of me. Last straw for my mum. She moved out, with Harry and me, shortly after. Those two never had a chance to try and kill me. Well what do you know? Small world.”

 

Sherlock looked torn between learning that John was his saviour yet again and the fact that John’s father had beaten him up because he’d stopped to help a small boy.

 

John reached up and cupped Sherlock’s face, he pulled him down and gave him a quick kiss. “You, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, have always been the best thing that has happened to me.” He fondly gripped Sherlock’s shoulders and gave him an affectionate shake, “Don’t you forget it. My Dad would have found some reason to beat Harry or me. Had nothing to do with you.”

 

Sherlock frowned, still not looking convinced, but he let John lead him to the sofa and they sat down. John stretched out and pulled Sherlock on top of him, back to chest and stroked through his unruly hair.

 

“I guess it was meant to be.”

 

“What?”

 

“You and me. I guess we were always meant to meet up. I wonder if we ever crossed paths any other times.”

 

“Unlikely. I would have remembered.”

 

“Oh sure, sure just like you remembered the incident with the bicycle.”

 

“Now that, my dear Watson, is a slightly better title.”

 

John laughed again and leaned toward Sherlock’s head, which lay upon his chest and kissed the top. He could just reach. He sat back and thought for a minute.

 

“You know those two boys who beat you up?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Well the name of one was Jim. He was a raging psychopath if ever I met one. You don’t think…”  


“What? Jim Moriarty? Don’t be ridiculous. Even the Universe can’t stand that much coincidence.”

 

“I suppose you're right.” He lay there, thinking, amused at the thought that all this time the two of them had already met. They could have begun their grand adventure that much sooner. What a delightfully odd idea.

 


End file.
